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Day One Hundred and Fifty:  Lost in the Waves

I intended to write this yesterday but I watched a movie with my sister instead and snuggled into bed.  I needed a little break from constantly being on the computer, constantly being surrounded by technology and people and communication.  I have been craving some alone time, just to sort of reconnect with me and what I want.  I feel like not a lot of people take enough time to really understand what’s going on with their body, their mind, etc.  It’s more important than video games or Netflix or working out, because if I don’t understand what’s going on  then I can’t get better.

So I’m writing today about understanding in general.   I crave knowing, if that makes sense, just to be in the know and to know what’s going on around me.  It bothers me when I feel a certain way and don’t know why.  Maybe that’s why I’m obsessed with learning techniques about calming down and meditation, and yoga. As my past yoga instructor’s say yoga is controlling the fluctatuions of the mind.  In order to stop thinking completely I do yoga.  It’s my narcotic of sorts.

I always return to the image of waves for explaining my meditation and the need to understand because things like water, waterfalls, waves, fascinate me, and I’d prefer to sit beside an ocean quietly listening and being immersed in the quality of sound and comfort around those places than being in a pool, or a rain storm, or any other interaction with water.  It’s so calming, and when I meditate I think of waterfalls.  It’s so…cosy.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

x

149

Day One Hundred Forty-Nine:  The Stars

  Something bizarre about living in the city is that I can’t see the stars here.  I mean, even in Sauble it takes a while to focus on any one small bright thing millions of miles away, but in the city it’s even harder to get a hold.  It’s like I’m slipping further from that positioning system that beings of nature have been using as a map for our existence.  What is it about having to know what and where we are?  Is it not just okay to exist?

Who am I to say anything I search for meaning within everything.  I need to learn to chill out more.  Today was my best friend’s birthday and I got her tickets to see Russell Brand in August, and I am pretty excited about it.  He’s a star, and I’m going to be able to see him quite perfectly, actually.  I think it makes a difference to some people those little things you remember, and in this case although it was a big thing I remembered, and seeing that smile was enough for me.  Worth it.

Is it possible to get and stay lost?  Is it possible to want to be found but reject it at all cost?  Is it possible to ignore someone who has found you?  Why is it so difficult to make change exist?  Why is existence so difficult in general?  Is it possible to love something or someone so intensely that it liquidates in your hands? 

All these questions has made for a strange evening.  I was so intensely happy and jacked not too long ago, and now I’ve come down from that dramatic high.  I have this urge to just fall into bed and sleep for the next ten years  It is possible, you know.  I feel like I had been sleeping through my teenage years, I just woke up startled, confused, lost, saw the stars had disappeared, and went straight back to bed.  Its something akin to motivation that drives me, but it’s not quite it.  It’s something more like…if I don’t get out of bed in the morning my guilt will eat away at me.

In other news, I’d prefer to find for other people than myself, I guess that makes me weird.  I can’t see the stars but am reassured by the fact that others can.  Sometimes I can’t even look at them when I can, it’s so far away, they’re so small, they seem so desolate.

Pocketed for safe keeping

Until they overflowed and fell

Into the sky from above, dropping one

By one, one by one,

z

148

Day One Hundred Forty-Eight: Little Rusty Yogi

That’s me!  The little, very unused to all this stretching, yogi. I am so happy to be back in the swing of things that I intend to get into a solid routine next week!  I know it sounds like I’ve been putting it off for forever, but this is for real now, this is the final countdown to an actual, real life routine.  No more procrastinating, no more rebelling against it.  Next week I am getting up early BEFORE work, doing yoga, and doing more after work, and keeping up with schoolwork and going out and having fun, and rock climbing eventually and reading.  Oh, I need to get this book done, I am hoping to do that this week.  Only have a month left to read three more books!  Can I do it?

Routines are important to me, I think it has something to do about the predictability.  I don’t like it when I expect something to go one way and it either is terribly different or never happens at all.  It’s a curse rather than what some might call “preparation,” because it gives me false expectations and hopes that eventually disappoint me.  I wish I never thoughts about things at all.  What an odd, mundane wish that is, to never think.

I actually wouldn’t like that because thinking is just one of those things that gets me.  Organization, understanding, analysis contributions everything that thought comes with is just so necessary to common conversation.  The other day my sister and I were trying to define “wit” to our brother, and it was really hard.  He has wit, and he can use it properly and it means that despite his teacher’s disbelief for his comprehension skills it means that he is in fact soaking up some of the education that’s thrust at him…  I am however going to avoid the flaws of the education system for the time being.

Thinking, in all of its glory, is sexy, Irene Adler got that right.  Thinking is important, and vital, and it really defines the kind of world we live in.  As a society do we stand for leaders who have any accusation about smoking crack?  Do we sit back and let other governments take over and massacre their people?  Apparently, because somehow in the last fifty years people have stopped speaking and standing out and up and began cosying up to the cattle infront of them.

This became political and scary very fast.

All I’m trying to say is..well, not say, provoke.  I am trying to provoke thought.  That’s what a blog is, isn’t it?  I write what I’m thinking so that you, the reader, the presumed interested, thinks and we cause a reaction, a dialogue, that in turn contributes to the overarching thought process of our world.  This all began with routines and ended with a philosophical argument about universal thought.  I’m so proud of my thought progression, and that reference was intended.

x

147

Day One Hundred Forty-Seven:  May Your Strength Give Us Strength

   Tomorrow I get the stitches out.  Tomorrow I will treck into the cave of darkness that is the final pain for this eye that I can endure until the next surgery, and by then I will have worked up enough courage to do it…again.  After what seems like a billion (nine) operations you’d think I’d get less nervous about them, but nope.

It’s come to my attention that a lot of people don’t really know what it’s like to live a day in my shoes, so I have heard through the grapevine that there is an ipad/iphone/ipod touch app on the CNIB website that you can download for free and see different eye conditions.  I think it seems kind of cool, I wouldn’t know how to do it but you can figure it out for yourself if you wish.  I have some kind of retinal detachment thing, so, that would be cool for you, probably.

If you are not an ipod touch user (or the only apple products you have are an ipod classic and an itunes, like me) then I can describe it a little for you.

To start off, I can’t see even a little out of one side.

The other side it’s kind of like when you squint into the sun and then try to look/read things.  I can see colours, and movement, and when on the computer and the brightness is fabulous I can see things, but for the most part I’m useless in a dark room or on a sunny day.  Reason number five hundred why I should move tot eh perma-gloomy London. 

Recognising people is difficult for me.  This becomes embarrassing.  I try to make situations less embarrassing by making jokes.  Laugh at these, this helps me.

I like to go to familiar places because when it gets darker I can’t see much at all, and I am nervous to ask for help.  I will, if I need to, but I get kind of..shy.

There are other things, little things, that are obvious differences, but those are the things that socially put me apart. Maybe the exam taking and the reading sapects are different, but for the most part I strive to be as similar as possible.  I’m just like you I just do things differently!

I work with kids who can’t se at all and haven’t for years, sometimes since birth, and they are so strong and vibrant that I couldn’t be more proud of them.  They inspire me every single day to get up in the morning, to take the bus to meet people to make friends and have relationships!  And every day that I spend with them I try to teach them the same, to inspire them to travel the world and go on dates and be vulnerable.  Those things are allowed, if you try your best those things can be comfortable.

This was going to be a lot different I started off writing this as something..well, a little less heartfelt.  All I want to say is that I’m strong, and I’m the same old me.  I still mess up and make mistakes, I still do the things everyone else does, I just..well, I do them a little different.

x

146

Day One Hundred and Forty-six:  Since I’ve Been Lovin’ You

     When you listen to Led Zepplin it’s something like…well, how can I put it.  You can’t turn it off before the song ends, you can’t picture anything but a guitar and Robert Plant’s hair, and you can’t stop being amazed by the fact that it exists.  I remember the first time I really got into Zepplin when I heard the Immigrant Song in that Jack Black movie School of Rock, I guess that soundtrack was where I discovered Stevie Nicks and the Who as well, man my fourth grade was all kinds of rock colours.  I remember discovering Zepplin and really getting into it to the point where now I can’t remember why I started loving them, why I only listen occaisionally, or why it makes me feel the way it does, but it works and I don’t question it.

Tangerine is one of my favourite songs that makes me want to get cosy and just listen to the entire album but it usually comes on when I’m walking somewhere so that doesn’t happen.  Right now Nobody’s Fault But Mine comes on and I listen to it repeatedly for hours, it’s just…so..mind blowing.

And then I remember the Zepplin songs Paul used to play when I was in the booth with him, and the rest melts away.  Who can resist two people who love music, the same music, sitting together and just…listening?  The theatre was empty, and we just sat and appreciated.  This doesn’t just happen with Paul, but lots of people with me, where a song will come on and I will stop conversation and appreciate.  Mutual appreciation is encouraged but not mandatory.  To eb honest there’s only a handful of people who truly appreciate what I find perfection, and those my friends, are the people worth spending time with.

It’s the guitar, really, that gets me in Zepplin, and the different-ness, the unique nature of the songs’ set up and tear down, the preface, the quality of Plant’s voice and his interruptions, his staccato-ness, the way that Jimmy Page immerses himself…IT’s…contagious.  I find myself replaying songs like that over and over, voluntarily driving myself into numb unconscious with the sounds of sweet guitar in both ears, pleasantly surprised (or not) by how comfortable I am with this.

Please listen to Since I’ve Been Lovin’ You immediately and listen to the entire thing, then reread this post, and tell me that song doesn’t convince you otherwise.  Zepplin is genius.  I dare you.

x

145

Day One Hundred and Forty Five: I Miss England

It’s impossible not to.  I miss King’s Cross station and how busy it was but how I knew where everything  went and how to maneuver and the lines!  The Oyster cards out and people running into eachother and the ads for the West End shows as you rode the escalator.  I miss the absolutely frustrating stops betweenKing’s Cross and campus, and how it took twenty minutes to get to class when in reality it shouldn’t take more than ten.  I miss the construction workers who virtually did nothing but stand around.  I miss my faschist bookstore with the cute booksellers and I miss Drink Shop Do.  I miss my Tesco’s, with it’s alcohol and its Miller’s bar that turned into a lame show after eleven.  I miss the cross that was always green.  I miss the tree’s, and the cobblestone street before Nido.  I miss the revolving oors that lead to our building and I miss the big Christmas tree’s and wreaths in the lobby. 

I miss Angel, and the weird fork in the road between Angel and Camden Passage, which I knew all the steps and how to get there.  The shopping centres with their student population and discounts, and the telephone booths everywhere.

I miss Covent Garden, desperately, enough to make my heart hurt every time I think about it and not being able to just take the Picadilly down for the afternoon and drooling outside of Burberry and watching the performer’s in the square.  I miss knowing where I was at all times because of the streets beneath my feet.

I miss the Thames.  So intensely that it actually hurts.  I miss breathing in and knowing history was around me, and that normal, vibrant, important people were around me.  I miss crossing bridges and feeling a part of it.  I miss living there, in all of its glory, because that means that I was a part of it too.

I miss London so desperately that I want to go back immediately.  I want to be there, and laugh and do my shopping and fly through Heathrow and Gatwick and Luton.  I wish I could be there right now, sipping a tea and looking out of my window and seeing Pentonville Road, and knowing that I was there.

There is so much I could write, about Portobello Road Market and every store I remember and the people I spoke to and the times I got lost.  The times on the busses, getting lost in bathrooms, in restaurants, meeting people, spilling drinks on people, laughing, laughing a lot, dancing a lot, laughing and dancing to jazz music on a Saturday night drinking whiskey and rollerskating to disco hip hop and laughing a lot.

Wearing wrist guards in the absolute pouring rain.  Getting lost.

Eating cupcakes in the dark, waiting for shows to start, the first time I rode the tube, the first time in a cab, the first time in King’s Cross, my first time on Green Park, Hyde Park, Regent’s Park, Kensington St.James, my first time infront of Buckingham Palace.  And the second.  Third.  Tenth.

Climbing the stiars of busses and laughing when I fell, and laughing when we sat at the front watching bikers try to beat the busses.  The top of the busses at night, the lights, being in London.  Being there.

I miss it because I was there.  This is all coming out jumbled but I just finished watching a video of one of my youtuber’s at the Harry Potter Studio’s and eating Pret and being at Eusten station and I just can’t stop remembering things.  Remembering my first Pret sou, or sandwich, tea, coffee, hot chocolate, croissant, and loving it.  Being infront of Harry Potter manuscripts and books from 1664 at the British Library.  I guess I can’t talk about everything, you can get what I’m feeling from all that.

It’s not secret that I had an amazing time.  I suppose it might be a secret that I want to live there, and not come back.

x

144

Day One Hundred Forty-Four:  Four is most Convenient

Four blogs will be written today.  Four of them.  I will not avoid writing by watching Arrested Development (or I’ll sincerely try).  I promise that some writing will get done regardless, and maybe some scheduling, and most likely a lot of sleeping and complaining.  Story of my life, right?  I finished a book this weekend!  Such a fantastic feeling!  I can’t wait to start a new one on the bus home tomorrow because reading is just one of those things, ya know?  Ya know? 

This weekend was one of those weekends, too.  Just one of those weekends you can feel in your bones the goodness exuding from them.  We spent a lot A LOT of time laughing.  Without giving anything away us three have fit together like a pair of gloves since tenth grade and we’re heading straight on to middle age! What with the TLC Bride Shows and Storage Wars and all!  And I finally saw a bit of Star Trek, so everyone can stop bothering me to do it.  I did my best!  (More laughing..)

Reading, and beavertails, and laughter.  I mean weekends are good anyways because the majority of us don’t work and we spend a lot of time taking a break from healthy lifestyles to drink beer and watch Four Weddings marathons or suntan on the back porch with margarita’s…  I think I’m going to take this week to get back into a good routine and then break it once the weekend comes.  That’s always a productive and brilliant plan!

I sincerely hope that everyone I love in my life has weekends as good as this one often, and enjoy them whole-heartedly.  They are those gems amongst the rubble of the everyday that keeps us going I think, or in my life anyway.  I don’t always look forward to weekends, like this week for example Thursday and Friday are going to be great days and I work for the majority of both of them!  But who can complain really when it’s finally patio weather and everyone I know is finally of age and can drink daquiries outside with me? (Sorry Jess, Lauren, Riss, and Kyle for the fact that you cannot legally drink with me)?

As for the rest of the blogs I have committed to writing and catching up on tonight I have no idea where my muse is going to come from so all apologies if the quality is so-so or they turn out to be rants about how beautiful Benedict Cumberbach’s eyes are or the lack of quality in the internet.  I am off to finish my carton of orange juice and read some resumes.

Cheers,

x

143

Day One Hundred Forty-Three:  Love, Actually

Short and sweet.  Come tomorrow I will begin a three day hiatus for GIRL’S WEEKEND in which we will spend three days drinking randomly, watching randomly, swimming randomly and relaxing on the beach intentionally.  Today has been the longest work day, and it wasn’t hard or anything but just long, so I am ready for bed.  There have been lots of things to think about today like handfuls and boys and mealplans, but there’s something to say about the people who take the time to worry about you, think about you, and spend time with you.  I don’t say it enough that I really do have the greatest friends.  Even when they post hideous pictures of me on facebook.

Have a lovely weekend all, I’m off to bed and then work and thenSauble Beach for a lovely internet hiatus.

x

142

Day One Hundred Forty-Two:  Vibrance In All Its Glory

You know that moment when you thought you’d have tons of time for yoga and writing during the summer?  Remember that feeling of hope and bliss?  Yeah, me too.  Remember when you promised you’d read for fun and smile all the time?  Yep, again, me too.  I’m not complaining, I LOVE being busy and having places to go, but I have this feeling that I really need to get back into yoga, and I need need must devastatingly desire writing again.  I must write, if not just a few paragraphs like yesterday, every single day.

Different than this.

These blogs are a different sort of writing for me.  For instance, I can say the word I and refer to myself, and I can use silly punctuation and grammar because this is primarily first person, and I can have run on sentences however long because you know what this is my own blog that I write for me and other people just happen to read it.  As for beautiful, slow proper writing.  With a title sometimes and sometimes not.  With flourish, and similes, and other things that are so unique within my own head that (sorry I had to stop some bullshit song came on the Sirius radio and I just..I can’t write while listening to this… Alright, the clash is on now. We can return) .

As for proper beauty writing I need the perfect environment, motivation, and mindset.  It needs to be the right time of day, and I can’t have any homework, work, friends, unfisnished chores or business or yoga to do because all of those things are distracting.  The only time that I truly feel like writing is right before lunch, and who has time to sit down and take some time then?  So for now I will consider myself lucky to have had yesterday and the inspiration that occurred, and just hope that it comes more often once I’m back into a proper routine as of next week.

Damn these stitches, OUT OUT DAMN SPOT.

Speaking of Lady Macbeth I need to reread Macbeth twice before I go back to Guelph, but 1984 is first I think.  So many texts for school over the summer it’s almost sickening, but what can ya do?  As much as I complain about it I just really do love reading.  I can’t help it, I love words.

I think that might be the working title of my novel:  I Love Words.  Just in case you were wondering.

Also I had the most vivid dream last night where I was confronted by someone from highschool out of nowhere and it felt so comfortable that I am tempted to send them a message, but probably won’t.  They’ve moved away for school, and although we were good friends once it…it wouldn’t work.  I’m positive of it.  It’s just heartbreaking to wake up from such a cosy dream to feel so disconnected. 

Also can we just take a minute to appreciate music?  Seriously.  With all of its glory and crap that’s out there music is just so great.  Part of me wants to go get glam hair cut for the summer, but the other half of me thinks that only Bowie can pull of that kind of fabulous.  Also, I need to save money since I won’t be working through the year and will want to go and do fun things like travel……

I could go on, but I think I’ll shut myself up.

xx

141

Day One Hundred and Forty-One:  Staring Over

Unkept and strange the grass that sits is taller than your knee’s and bright blossoming green with short spouts of weeds and flowers intermingled together to post a long valley of disarray and vacancy.  A large yellow school bus sits to the left, seemingly abandonded with the old-fashioned doors sitting open.  Two school bags sits beside the school bus on the grass, barely seen by its height.  The bus is sitting on the grass since there is no road at all, it seemed to have just wanted to pass through.  A bird chirps to the left, and another on the right, a short fifteen second exchange of humming that ceases with one loud snap.  Footsteps approach, one very heavy set and another shuffling through the tall grass.  Some short coughes, and the bird from the right erupts in chirps and flies away quickly as two tall men approach the centre.

One man in a large brown coat, holding a bouqet of red flowers and smiling dazedly into the sun following the first tall man who wears only a light blue shirt and blue jeans.  Not speaking, but it seems as though the man leading the other towards the bus is growing impatient by the loud heavy footsteps and short bursts of breath every few steps.  No more birds.  No more interruptions.

The leading man picks up the first bag and stops to look at it before turning to the second man, who stares at his own bag and drops his flowers in order to pick it up.  The two men are of similar height but the second man seems to have an easier time picking his bag up, as if it held very little.  As the first man boarded the bus, his bag on the crook of his arm he ignored the man behind him who smeared a dew-y hand noisily across the side of the bus, holding his one bag gingerly in his free hand.  The noise stopped when he reached the door.

The dazed man turns to face out and swoops to pick up what seems like a bouqet arranged by a blind man:  just grass, weeds, flowers, and a small amount of dirt around the bottom.  He turns slowly, all that can be heard is the short impatient breaths from the man sitting in the dirver’s seat for the bus.  The man holding flowers boards the bus slowly, taking one deliberate step after the other, as if following his own procession to the grave.   The doors shut shortly behind him as he reaches the top step.

Lights down.

x

140

Day One Hunred and Forty:  Well-Worth it Exhaustion

And a new sense of memory.  I contemplated today if I could have a memory issue due to the lack of remembering things that were key, or even remembering things that weren’t but remembering at all seems to be an issue lately.  The things I do remember are small details from the trip abroad, and yet I can’t remember if a friend returned a cd or not.  Toda however was full of those little memories, the things that we remember from things are different from eachother, and if we fit those memories together, and reconstruct them together, we get a full mosaic picture.

Spending the day at the Falls with some good new-old friends I’ve found myself killing my feet, running myself to exhaustion, and not caring really because we reconstructed and constructed a-new all ay.  We laughed, a lot, after I got wet so many times that it was uncanny.  And we laughed more at different people or things we said off-hand, and more so at things that didn’t happen or more people again.  We laughed at things that had happened in London or Scotland, or things that happened on tv shows.  We laughed about things we’d all experienced or just insgular experiences.  We laughed, because we love eachother, and we like to listen to eachother, often, and intently.  I love these ladies, because they love me for my stupid laughs and my stupid reactions to Dev’s dog and the way I scream when Niagara literally falls on top of me.

Derailing memories from the trip and then today is one of those lovely pass-times.  I remember Scotland weekend differently than Devra does and differently than Jenna does, so when we tell the story of Jenna’s birthday each of us have a different picture in our head that we put together.  When we go to tell Maya of our day in Niagara we will all tell it differently, from different places, and still have this beautiful, wonderful picture together.  IT’s such a unique happening with memories, that I really gets me going.

I love experiencing things with other people.  I love going and eating lunch alone, or having a coffee or watching a show, but after those times I tell people around me about it and it matters to them because it creates a new memory for them.  Maybe the meaning of life is memories, and cherishing and reliving and living them for them to be amazing.  Maybe the name of this blog should change to Jess trying to figure out the meaning of life.”  Maybe that’s what I should write my book about.

Today was special because it was so much fabulous that three people couldn’t even handle it while working together.  I got to actually see and touch the Falls, and I laughed, unbelievably hard, numerous times, while walking Dev’s fast pace from adventure to adventure.  I wouldn’t trade today for the world.  Thanks ladies, for making a memory with me.  Now I sound like Bon Jovi mid millennia and I hate myself for it.  But I do quite love making memories. 

x

139

Day One Hundred Thirty-Nine:  Patio Living My Friends,

What have we done to deserve this?  Deserve this hard-knock but relatively simple life.  We wake up, eat, work, chat, drink, live, and sleep.  There are minor details that fill in the spaces, fill in the cracks so sometimes things are ifferent, but for the most part everyday IS exactly the same.  Sometimes risks are taken, sometimes something new comes up, for the most part we all live, easily, comfortably, in the same way. Every day.

I am determined to have something to do after I graduate, to have a plan by the end of this summer.  By the end of August I will know what things are being applied to, I will know who I’m living with and where I’m going.  I want to have a direction, so that waking up and eating and working all means something.  I’m working towards something, always, I’m just moving forward, but I want to move towards something….stable.  Constant.  Is it so hard to ask for just ONE DIRECTION?

I crack myself up.  But in all seriousness moving forward seems natural.  I want to move forward…but everyone else seems to be moving toward something constant.   I have this feeling that…I might be moving toward something a little more murky.  A little more..more than one.   Does that make sense?  I’m not even close to settling it’s ridiculous.  I want to settle and move, go around and experience more than one place for a period of time. I’ve caught the brief bug of travel.  It needs to continue, or atleast across Canada.  I have all of these idea’s in my head, but nowhere to put them.

But here!  Just kidding there’s too many.  That’s the plague of constantly thinking and insomnia, is that sometimes things get caught up in your head.  MY head for example wanted to write about the sunshine today, but the subconscious was lurking and worrying about what I’m doing with my life so that’s what comes out.  It came, and now I hope it went.  Brief, movement.  Something new.

In other news the sun is shining and it is ridiculously bright and hot, I’m on the back porch writing here, thinking, wishing there were more fireworks tonight but also happy that I’ve had a lot of down time this weekend.  Come this week I will be extremely busy with hardly any time for relaxing, let alone “down” time.  I start work full time Tuesday, and then amongst the doctors appointments, birthdays, and extra-curricular volunteering I have two summer courses to keep up with.  This is the kind of summer busy that I enjoy, the summer-busy, or the just “busy” that I imagine post-graduation will be like. 

Another expectation ready for breaking, no?

x

138

Day One Hundred Thirty-Eight:   The Day I Helped With a Promposal

I spent my Saturday of the long weekend with my best friend eating our weight in ham burgers and the other half of the day trying to figure out what that obscure song we were thinking of was, who it was by, and why we were thinking of it in the first place.  Sometimes I think the sole reason for us meeting was to be a combined jukebox for the rest of the world.  We should be given a radio show.  Needless to say it was a very lovely day to say the least, if only the sunshine stayed out a little longer so it was a bit brighter, or that you didn’t have to go home, but what ca you do.?  We had a lovely day, and that’s how we’re going to have to be until we can like afford to do something more fabulous.

I’ve spent most of the nights recently alone watching tv shows, films, and other things in order to keep myself from going crazy.  I’m not ready to go out to the bar or anything yet because of the stitches and my energy levels after the surgery but I have been able to get out of the house atleast.  As of last night I helped one of my sister’s friends prom-pose to his girlfriend, and it was one of those moments that you can actively live vicariously through someone else.  It was lovely.  I wish I was going to prom again.

I wish there was some other big event that I could get dressed up for and have a date for that wouldn’t be something like a wedding  prom, but those dates seem to come far and few, instead of often like I’d dreamt it to be.  Being a grown up, and passing the teenage years seems to disappoint more and more as expectations I assumed would come true disappear as fast as my ability to have long naps or tan for hours on end.  I’m not saying I miss being a teenager, but I do miss the feeling that life would just be open to me when I got older.

The reality of all of this is that in order to get what you want you have to work for it.  That’s simple, and I guess we realise that through our highschool years, close to the end but it happens.  I think that the work should be a fair exchange for a life full of what you want…As long as you enjoy it.  But is enjoyment the true goal?  Not everyone, clearly, but it just…it should be more of  a pay off earlier, shouldn’t it?  Shouldn’t the work we have to do and the effort we have to put in be enjoyable as well?  It can’t all be a piece of cake,  but it should at least be a pay off.  It should at least be worth it.  We should learn something on the way.

You’re only on top of the mountain for a moment, you climb it for a long time.

X

137

Day One Hundred Thirty-Seven:  Forgot to pack my invisibility cloak

I was thinking today hanging out with my coworker (and newly great friend) Jess about how it doesn’t matter at all what I’m wearing.  It’s such a simple, silly thing to have a realisation about, but in all reality…  Does it matter?  She couldn’t tell what I was wearing from the next person, and although I like to look cute, does it really matter?  As long as I am cosy?  Why don’t I just wear and feel things like I do when I’m with her, or my other CNIB friends?  Or the blind kids?  Gosh, those are the best days.

When I’m at camp I wear oversized jean shorts, mix-matched socks and a variety of different cosy tshirts.  My batman tshirt, old Gap shirts, long sleeved shirts from schools that I no longer go to, and an assortment of other things that really are about how I can keep cool or wear for a long time not thinking about how I look but focusing on how efficiently I can get things done.

Why don’t I dress like this everyday? Well, despite the obvious reasons that I actually enjoy looking nice at times, it just would be impractical.  I can’t wear that ensemble to a meeting with an employer, or a professor, or to a wedding.  I have dresses for those times, but I think I care too much about what people will think about the shirt I chose specifically to wear for them, despite the fact that they will most likely not realise I made an effort at all.

What is with this obsession to look perfect, anyway?  Impress yourself, people, jeez.

As for me I think I’ll just stick to my comfortable and alright looking.  I think I can deal with that.  I like the way I look and feel usually.  I need to get back into doing yoga regularly, but the surgery has prevented me until next week, so I am hoping after that to get back into it.  Jeez.  Jeez.  I could really use some cuddles… I need a puppy.

x

136

Day One Hundred Thirty-Six:  Don’t Bring Me Down

It’s days like these that I’m not sure what to write about.  My brother asked me last night If my blog was just a log of my day, and it isn’t usually because there aren’t that many things to report on a daily basis.  I write about things that come up, thoughts, stories that happen or I’ve been thinking of.  I don’t know what to talk about today because I’ve not felt very well, and haven’t thought about much but sleep.  Something I’m trying to remind myself lately is that I need to give myself a break.  I had surgery a week ago, and I’m bothered by the fact that I can only partake in minimal activity…  I get frustrated because, well, because lots of reasons, but for now I think I’m just stuck with cabin fever.

I’ve only been outside for a little bit every day, but I get so tired.  I’ve tried yoga but it brought me down, and I am just trying to not let anything get me down.  It’s really hard, you know, to let yourself relax.  Just stay in bed or go for little walks, instead of on the go all of the time.  I remember exm time when I wished for more relaxing time, but in reality it’s hard to accept.

So what do I want to say today?  Other than expressing my feelings of unrest and unforgiveness I think I should just be thankful that I have time to take it slow at all.  I know it’s been difficult for me to accept relaxation, accept being still for days on end, accept the headaches and the tugging and the issues, but it’s what I have to do to get by I guess, right?  And that’s all life is sometimes:  doing what we have to to get by.

Life, in all of its glory, tends to kick us in the ass on a weekly basis.

x

135

Day One Hundred Thirty-Five:  GATSBY

The Great Gatsby

I will say before I begin that The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald is my favourite classic novel and has been for years.  I have been in love with it for a long, long time, and that is the bias that I entered in to this movie with.  Akin to the feelings of Harry Potter my wishesfor this film not to suck was very strong, but as I saw the reviews come in I allowed myself to go in with low expectations.  After leaving the movie I can for sure say it was fabulous.

Nothing short than fabulous.  Tobey Mcguire didn’t even ruin it for me like I thought he would.  Leonardo did Gatsby justice, the acting was one of those things that fit perfectly with Baz’s obvious cartoon-like vision, and it really got to me that the actors knew the irony within what they were saying.  It was so true to what I wanted I just had the biggest grin on my face the entire time.  What is it with Leonardo DiCaprio and always needing to act in water?  “Because he looks good in it,” Zoe answered.  That would be true for every actor in this movie:  The all looked good, period.  Constantly.

The thing that surprised me most was the music.  You know me and my snob music bias, and I was a little bothered by the fact that everything about Gatsby was going to be in-period except for the music.  And then the music started, and I really couldn’t have thought it any better.  I didn’t mind the beats, I didn’t mind the guitars, or the modern music.  Gatsby always said he was a “Modern Man,” and so I trust him, and so did Baz.  The music fit, and I was very happy to hear it.

As for the story, the narrative, and the look of the film as a whole it was great.  I really can only say that it felt suave, it felt like this is how it should be.  It was meant to be outrageous and unrealistic it’s a story about a man with a castle of a house who throws enormous hyperbolic parties to get a girl.  If you are expecting anything casual I suggest not going or waiting for the DVD, but would you expect anything less for the story of the Great Gatsby?

All in all  I loved it.  Obviously it wasn’t all perfect, but I’m not being picky because it was done well.  They made choices and stuck to them, and beyond everything and anything else it told the story nicely..  Like I said:  it fit.  Everything was comfortable with a little bit of out-of-the-box thrown in.  I want to go back and watch it again, but in the meantime I’m buying the soundtrack on itunes immediately.

x

134

Day One Hundred Thirty-Four:  Where do I go from here?

As my friends and I hopefully approach our final year of undergraduate degrees the common conversational habit of everyone I know has been,”So, what are you thinking after graduation?”  It makes my heart speed up and my eyes gloss over.  I have about a billion answers to that question at the moment…  But, atleast I have any answer, right?

I want to do so many things.  I don’t think I’m ready to just jump into a job for the rest of my life yet.  I want to…live a little bit.  One very blazing option on my mind right now is to just get a steady job for a bit, take six months, make some money, and then head out and find myself again abroad.  The other step would be to get some graduate school under my belt and then continue that journey.  What most likely will happen is a little bit of both.

I think with the applications for graduate schools looming at the end of this year it is becoming more and more clear that what we all thought in highschool is not happening  The people who took a fifth year will be familiar with this.  I truly believed that at the end of highschool I would graduate, spend four years at university, then get my masters and then teacher’s college, then find a job, get married, live a life. 

Now that idea is laughable.  University undergraduate degree’s in four years are becoming less common, and then going straight from your undergrad to a graduate degree is even less so.  Everyone graduates at different times and the houses and apartments that we rent don’t always look picture-perfect like on Friends (the tv show).  Travel is a reality for me now.  Travelling the world has become accessible, realistic, approachable, even plausible this year if I wanted to.  Similar opportunities have risen in the past little while that I never thought would be possible for me.

I have fallen in love with writing more so than before, and writing in a more public setting, let it be online or potentially for the stage.  Working with people on stage has also been re-ignited, which leads me to believe that starting a public program for working with people onstage might not be out of reach.  Could I get paid for it?  Maybe.  Is there a graduate program for starting your own company?  Seriously?  Can someone help me do searches, please?

I have plan A’s, B’s, C’s, through to J’s and K’s, possibilities out the wazoo, I just need the time to get them all done.  I have the motivation to apply for grants and research possibilities.  The drive to work for a year and then head out for another year.  Why do I have to choose which one to do first?

Would it be easier to just get all of my school done before I go travelling?  Or will there be job prospects after school that are deadlined opportunities that will halt my traveling  prospects?  And what if I go travelling first and then lose my drive to keep on with my schooling?  Too many negative what if’s.

Atleast there have been some break through’s with potential degree’s for after graduation, which makes me want to apply for finishing school and then travel.  Who says I have to have a final job right after school any way?  Who says that job may not give me the opportunities to travel either with the work or on holiday? 

I think I am more hesitant to take time off from school because I am worried about three things:  What if I get into a job and I like it so much I want to stay?  What if I like work and never miss learning?  What if I never find a job?  These three issues all lead me to believe that that graduate program, whatever it may be that fits with me, is what I should be focusing on.  The only thing is making sure that it jis the right one.

I remember when I was in my first semester of second year and I felt that Guelph was not the right school for me, that English was the wrong program, and that I had made the wrong decision.  Now, almost two years later, I believe I have corrected myself on all fronts.  The city and campus are beautiful and welcoming (despite absolute shit busses), the teachers are incredible and have impacted me in ways I never thought possible with professors, and I am smarter than I believe in my chosen Englihs and Theatre fields.  What I am worried about is in a shorter, more condensed and stressful environment, will these revelations happen in a graduate program setting?

I think the solution to all of this is to start setting goals.  Really researching program sna dmaking sure that what I am looking into suits me.  Looking at possible job prospects and where I want to live when doing these graduate programs and making sure that that is what I want.  What do I want?  What does anyone want?  I have these amazing idea’s about helping people and about trying my best to inspire people to do their best, and to help people achieve things and feel good about themselves, it leads me to believe I should’ve done a double minor in Psych and Theatre, instead of a double major, but everyone finds the negatives, right?  20.20 hindsight.

I am determined to fin the right fit though. I am not pressuring myself to figure out what I want to do in the long haul, or if even one thing is possible for me in the long haul.  Ideally I’d start my own, travelling company that may not pay amazingly and may not be reliable and steady but focuses on helping people and allowing accessibility to shine through in all aspects.  I would love to do some sort of finishing school in the research oflearning and how people learn to read.  I don’t know wht I’d do with that exactly though.

Now I’m rambling and I’m getting frustrated with it all.  I just want to know what to do.  Why doesn’t anyone help you with this?  I’ve tried for so long to get to the point of potentially finishing school forever and then bam, back to the drawing board for trying to figure out what to do with my life.    This has been one honest rant-fest.  I just want to be positive about all of this.

x

133

Day One Hundred Thirty-Three:  I guess it hasn’t hit me yet

I talk a lot about myself, and my thoughts.  I talk a lot, in general.   I don’t talk a lot about the things that inspire me.  I am inspired every single day by the power of other people, their compassion, their gratitude and beauty, and their ability to have lives and pursue happiness despite obstacles, challenges, and a society that seems to constantly be pushing them down.  I am inspired by people who smile when they’re upset, or take turns instead of being selfish.  I am inspired by people, in general, and that’s why I identify as a humanist.  I always thought I was an approachable, capable conversationalist.  I always felt that I could be talked to by anyone about anything, or atleast I could try.  I am not the best at advice but I’ve always had people trying to get help from me and I’ve tried my best to be supportive and loving.  I recently allowed other people to help take care of myself too, and to me that feeling of being able to rely on someone else inspires me.

What inspires me most is that people do have the capacity to care about other people and overcome adversity and they choose to do so.  Nothing frustrates me more than someone passing by an opportunity because it scares them or they think they aren’t fit for it.  Those situations and experiences of inspiration grow from people who take what they have, and see where they can go and then move forward.

Passionate, strong people who enjoy living life and know that although sometimes it gets hard and hurts and isn’t fair that it will get better.  Those people inspire me beyond belief, because they see the bad things in life and they acknowledge them and they let those things hurt them, and sometimes wallow and sometimes sulk and pity themselves because everyone needs that sometimes.  But after the sulking mess is over they pick themselves up and try to put the pieces back together.

That’s all I talk about when I am feeling broken.  I may not know the way to fix things but I’ve got a growing utility belt for myself that I wear daily, and I will not stop trying.  Resolve.  Resolve is inspirational.  Knowing that you deserve better is inspirational.  Respecting yourself and reflecting that respect to others is inspirational. 

I just…I love people, so much.  I believe in them, so much.  I want to see other eople succeed so much that I just would give my everything to help them.  I would put my all into the effort to better everyone’s outlook on life, their resolve, so that other people can inspire.  I want to just be able to see everything and experience things with other people and have conversations so that when I’m old and gray and can’t pick up my own legs anymore I can sit on my porch and drink a tea and be proud of my own life.  Be proud of my mistakes.  Be proud to have known the people I did and experience and see the things I was able to.  To be proud of the life that I chose and made for myself, shaped by the things and people that inspire me.

Thank you, for taking the time to contribute to my inspiration, because just knowing that one person beyond myself reads this inspires me to keep writing Day One Hundred Thirty Four tomorrow.

All of the hugs,

x

132

Day One Hundred and Thirty-Two:  Vogue

Why do people look for the issues, the badness, the negativity, in all or certain situations?  I am at fault for this, as I look at my own imperfections…the things I don’t like about my body, the things that I do wrong within a relationship, the bad marks I get and the mistakes I make, but I try to stay positive within this, or have a tendency to be able to let things go or look at something as a learning possibility and take it in, and learn from it.  Why do some people just look at the negatives and stick to them?

Take Chandler Bing for example.  There is a plot line somewhere in the third or fourth season where he thinks he will be alone forever because he always finds the imperfections of his dates.  One has a head shaped like a pineapple, one has mascara constantly lurking in the corner of her eye, and yet he never takes these imperfections and looks past them, he becomes hung up on them and the relationship ends as quickly as it started.  What if he could just let those things go?

That is a very superficial, physical example, although many of my friends have the same issues there are more than a few instances I’ve been witness to where a grudge is held longer than necessary for no reason.  Why is forgiveness so hard?  Why are people so inclined to keep people in a dark light?  To make themselves feel better?  To focus on something negative in another person to cover up something similarly negative within themselves?  I don’t really know the answer to this.

I’ve learned very recently to acknowledge my feelings towards anything really and make them known, and then let them go.  IT’s a part of meditation and mindful living to acknowledge thoughts and then let them be.  A wise lady friend of mine told me a few years ago that it is important to sit with any feeling in order to feel the rawnesss of it.  I believe as human beings we deserve to have those felings, and feel them.  Why numb them?  Why look them over?  Pain is pain.  You’ve got to know pain in order to enjoy happiness.  Or is that just an ignorant thought? 

All I’m saying is that sometimes its hard to wrap your head around the light, to focus on the goodness, in spite of so much darkness in the world.  I wish grudges didn’t exist, and I wish people forgave easier than they do.   I wish people who were constantly negative picked up their moods and focused on the goodness more, and realised that no one is perfect.  Perfection is impossible, and that’s why happiness and love are able to exist.  In spite of perfection people still have the ability to be happy and love.  I think that’s the closest I can get to the definition of hope in my opinion.

x

131

Day One Hundred Thirty One:  Scar Tissue

After years of surgeries I’ve been left with a handful of prominent, never-leaving scars.  It isn’t a big deal, if anything they contribute to the mosaic of who I am, and the story, my story, of how I came to be who I am.  The thing that gets me is that not everyone knows about these scars, but I do.  Why do they bother me so much?  Why does the possibility of non symmetry make my blood boil?  It might be my perfectionist mind talking, or the fact that I feel that every person around my age values looks to such a high value that I feel I should as well.  These scars, they suck, and they hurt to come to being there, but they’re there, and I can’t change them.

I’ve been feeling a little off lately.  Blame it on the anesthetic, I suppose, but I’ve been kind of stuck in my own head.  I’ve only been inside the house for a few days and I’ve already forgotten the sunshine (although the rain hasn’t helped a bit).  I wonder why if I stop wearing my cosy jeans or my dresses why I start feeling so bad about myself and my body.  It doesn’t change much, but put me in something other than my usual comfortable clothes and I’m lost. 

I could blame society, and the media, for forcing this beautiful Barbie looking young portrait of perfection atme, or I could blame everyone my age hitting the gym and binge drinking, soking, and eating in order to maintain the right look.  I blame myself, however, for letting these things get to me.  I want to be healthy, that’s always been my goal.  I don’t care that my jean size is bigger than my girlfriends’, or that I don’t go to the gym every single morning for two hours.  I do what I can, what I can handle, and I’m okay with that.

II remember in highschool and girls wondering and worrying about their hair length and if they were wearing the right shoes, while at the same time I was worrying if my eyes matched, or if I had an eye at all, r if I’d be able to see my kids in the future.  I preach this a lot, but for the love of pete don’t take what you have for granted, it could always be a lot worse.  And I haven’t had it that bad, I mean there have been struggles no doubt, but I still have one decent eye (by my own standards, of course) and I have a good enough head on my shoulders.  We all make mistakes, but that’s how we learn.

My scars remind me that what I’ve gone through has been worth it.  I started writing a different piece today and it has already taught me about what I know about the age that I am, my own maturity and the people around me.  I get confused sometimes about the things that my sister worries about, but I realise she’s four years younger, just graduating highschool, and I for sure worried about similar things at her age.  The thing is, those kinds of worries don’t go away as you grow older, they just change slightly to fit the responsibilities you have to take care of. 

I guess my memories, the good ones and the bad, the successes and the mistakes, are a kind of reminder towhat I have gone through, and the struggles I’ve had to deal with, and sometimes thinking of those memories themselves remind me that it has been hard to get here and we are allowed to make mistakes and fall but there are always those times when we will fly.  My memories haunt me at times, as my own scars on my body do, and sometimes I’m embarrassed by them or try to shuffle over them, but in all honesty it would do me a great favour to just accept them, because it just shows maybe a little more personal but all the more important side of me.

Not that I’m going around flashing my scars or anything, I’m more focusing on the new one behind my ear which my mom has thankfully assured me that the stitches will come out on their own.  Every time I move my hair the stitches pull and it hurts, but it’s all working towards a healthier me, so I’m fine with it.  Just working towards a better version of me.

I have a hard time thinking of the mistakes that I’ve done, but I remind myself that those are in fact different versions of me.  They might be recent memories, or far in the past, but mistakes are meant to happen for a reason.  I don’t really regret much because it has helped me grow.  I wish I learned more from my mistakes, maybe that should be added onto my new year’s resolution list, a little late but better now than never addressing it.

I’m off to watch probably Sherlock then bed, love,

x

130

Day One Hundred and Thirty:  Bedtime

It’s all over and done with and I feel…drained.  That’s the only true word to describe it.  I won’t write much as I have to head to my own cosy bed and finally sleep after days of exhaustion and pain, but I wanted to say a few things.  One, I am so grateful to have the support system I have.  I say it a lot but it needs to be said, and without the people in my life I would actually be going crazy, so that’s a great comfort.  Two, surgery is painful, and stressful for a lot of reasons and for a lot of people, and for me I deal with it in a certain way, and I am thankful that people take time to worry about me.  Third, I haven’t showered in a few days, and I had to leave the hotel room this morning for breakfast in my sweats and crooked glasses and bruises, swollen face, and I was a little shy.  I know that people looked at me, and that I looked..rugged, to be king, but I kept eating my English muffin and my coffee and did it anyway.  I couldn’t understand what the couple beside us speaking German were saying, but I am tired of people judging me without knowing me.  I am okay with being me, but I didn’t choose this, so I can’t control it, and I take what I’m given and run with it, okay?  Be okay with who you are, be proud to be who you are, because you’ve only got one you.  And if you don’t like what you are just change it, work on it, step by step, you are the one who has to deal with you for the rest of your life, you might as well be shiny and ready to show off for the world.

As for me I’m off to bed.  I’m dizzy, and am in need of a very good sleep.  Until tomorrow,

x

129

Day One Hundred and Twenty-Nine:  Go Go Gadget Operation!

Dear Diary,

This will be written prematurely, but I would like to speak only a short while on the topic of surgery itself.  If you must know, it doesn’t hurt me as much as you imagine, trust me, the only part that truly bothers me is the IV needle before I even see the operation table.  Falling asleep with anesthetic is actually so lovely, and tingling, and then you’re awake and it’s over.  Sometimes it’s really painful to wake up, and other times it sneaks up on you.  When I wake up they usually try to feed me those cookies you give to teething babies, but I like those so I don’t really complain, unless they don’t give me water and then I get a little frustrated.  I am calling today the day of operations because AJ is also getting an operation, and I hope he is okay.  I remember getting my wisdom teeth out, I didn’t enjoy the first day, I cried and watched the Grinch and ate cheesies, I hope someone brings him mashed potatoes and tomato soup, I can’t and I feel bad.  Everybody deserves tomato soup after surgery.  Anyways Diary, I was speaking of my own surgery experience, and the last thing I want you to remember is that I always wake up, and I am always a grumpy bear, but I will eventually get better.  Surgery is just one of those things that comes with being me, I guess, can’t escape it, so I embrace it.  I get to have a nice emal with my parents and sleep in a hotel room!  Imagine that, luxurious and lovely!  I hope I can rent a movie on the tv, that’s a fun part of being in a hotel too. 

Things to remember when coming out of surgery:

1.       Patience.  Yes, I will hav very little patience, and this is normal, and so in order to get by this give me a lot of space.  I give my own self space when I have little patience post-surgery, because I just get very frustrated with every little thing, like if I can’t put my own pants on because my arms don’t work properly, that’s one of those times where I’m allowed to get grumpy, because everyone wants to put on their own pants.

2.      Eating.  Sucks.  After surgeries big and small your teeth hurt from the anesthetic, your tummy’s very upset, and all you want to do is eat that big mac large fry cherry pie diet coke because you haven’t eaten prior to your surgery, and so this leads, again, further, deeper, into that grumpy bear mood.  IT’s great.  Don’t let me bite your finger off.

3.      Sleep.  I use surgeries as an excuse to wear jammies all day and sleep till whenever I can possibly hold myself in bed.  Do NOT ruin this for me.

I think those came off as more warnings and less advice, but hopefully whenever YOU have surgery you can use those three things as excuses too, because hye, it’s surgery, nobody likes those.  As for me, I’ve got to go and get on with it, but I hope everyone’s well Diary.  I don’t really like that I don’t know who reads my blog everyday, or who enjoys it or thinks I’m stupid for what I write.  I wish I had a bigger comments section, but sometimes I think that’s a good thing.  IT reminds me that this blog is for me, ME, and that I can write whatever I like in here for the next two thirds of the year (did I not mention I’m over a third way done these posts?  Insanity!). 

I wish you all the best of luck on your Thursdays and Fridays.  Take care,

Love always,

Jessica D.

x

128

Day One Hundred Twenty Eight:  Farewell.

I’m off to Toronto for the evening with my parents before my operation tomorrow morning.  I will be sort of lazy on posts for the following week, I don’t really want too much pressure or anything to impede on my healing, but I’ll try to keep up regardless.  It shouldn’t be too hard, but sometimes I get frustrated when I have to follow certain instructions post-op.  I am what some might call, stubborn, and so I certainly do things my own way.  I’m not really a fan of being told what to do……unless I ask, of course.

For now I’m in good spirits, but that might be because I had a fantastic day yesterday and this morning hasn’t been so bad either.  I’m almost packed, kind of, because I haven’t really finished at all and haven’t decided if I want to bring more clothes to wear or just wear the same clothes post op….  Bleh, decisions, I guess this post will be more stream of consciousness than I’d have liked, but what can I do now?  I’m already started and going through, as if I can erase it all now?  Who erases their work?

Zoe told me yesterday that I should write a book.  Maybe I will.  How many words is a novel?  I’m going to google this. Google answers said 80 000 to 120 000 or whenever the story is told.  I think I could do that.  I’m much better at scripts and poems, because those are less restricted and more room to breathe, but I guess I want a book, and the story’s right there.  I like writing.  I like writing this blog, and writing little poems, and thinking about writing.  There is a good chance that I will be happy writing for a long time now, because I started these blogs two years ago.  I’m no Julie and Julia or anything, but, who has the patience to cook that much, anyway?

Maybe Next year I’ll make a themed blog.  Like every day of the week is a new adventure, or something.  I might wait until after I graduate for that.  I’m going to make sure that I continue writing though.  I would also really like to start planning some different adventures as well, because if anything I just want to be an adventurer.

I remember when we got to Paris and we sat down at that little café for dinner, completely drained, dehydrated, exhausted, and we smiled and said we were finally Adventurers.  Capital A.  We are da bomb.  I never want to lose that feeling, of absolute wonder, like Russian Santa! (to understand that reference, watch the Rise of the Guardians).

I should end this here.  It has been a stream post, which are cop-outs but sometimes necessary.  I hope you’ve enjoyed learning what’s in my head right at this very moment.  Like I’m wondering if I should wear my green light jacket or a sweater to the hospital tomorrow, but you, my friend, will never know.

OR maybe you will.  Shit, okay I’m done.

x

127

Day One Hundred Twenty Seven:  Jelly Babies

I have this odd relationship with food where I am open to trying everything once, but if it isn’t sold after that one time then there will not be a second chance.  For example, while travelling through Germany I tried saurkrout (spelling?) and these German sausages the second day we were there (after a few convincing cups of coffee and beer, not together though that’s disgusting) and I mean…  You can’t go to Germany without trying the food and the beer, no matter how picky you are, and so I tried it, and it was an experience, and for the rest of the trip we found pasta places with undoubtable tomato soups and just veggies, as by this time we had been spoiled by Parisian sandwiches and well now I’m just drooling over travelling again.

But food, in general, is something that connects us all.  I tell that Saurkrout (I can’t figure out how to spell this) story to friends and they share their own adventurous eating stories, and this Is most likely happening over a beverage or a meal or a tray of snacks, and then it brings me to conclude that yes, food connects us all.  It’s a survival thing, right?  We all eat.  We all must eat, no matter how little some of us assume we can to survive food is essential, and after laying our heads back on the couch in our bakery we love eating cake  pops yesterday Zoe turned to me and said “Everything we do has to do with food.”

Yes, Zo, because food is fabulous.  It doesn’t matter if we’re experimenting with the shape of cookies, or making “poppers” with whipped cream (or Ceara and I’s many other adventures with whipped cream, like those coke floats we used to make during card night) or sitting at a pub before a show drinking a beer and trying lamb or fish for the first time, while its crowded and you feel like crying because you’re so happy (that might just be me).  Food, in general, is the reason I see some friends, is the reason I go out some days, is the reason I can appreciate living in my parents house and not paying/preparing my own food.  Food is, well, the word. Food is the word.

Last night I had an adventure of sorts with food of my own and, with the help of three children under the ages of 13, made two very delicious home made pizza’s.  We rolled the dough, and spread things and cut things and baked, and laughed and there was a lot of me looking over shoulders and making sure things were going alright, but it got done, and it was nice.  I like cooking for the most part, when I know the kitchen and in a perfect world I don’t have to pay for the makings, but in all reality I just enjoy making things that taste good.  I can’t wait to grow up and have my own place to be a hostes (this mystical “grown up” period is fast approaching, might even be a year from now an I will be making my own hostess decisions) because it really is just that exciting to have a purpose to make food.

Gosh, look at me rambling on about food.  I’m not hungry or anything I promise, I just thought that it’s an interesting thing to think about.  During school the only time I see some friends is during a meal met up on campus or a night out for beverages, or a night in making pancakes, or an afternoon on a patio drinking coffee (or anywhere else we can manage to find coffee) but it really is true.  The only time I have time for things during the year is for food, so it is only natural that during the summer my plans revolve around mealtimes.  “Wanna sit on the patio?  I’ll get a salad.” It just…happens.  The other night we made plans to go out for beers and Alex bought a burger, like, to eat at night while out.  Not to mention the Sobey’s run for cookies.  IT’s like we run on food or something.

As of Friday (well probably tomorrow after surgery) I will be eating a lot less, and a lot more conscious of the healthy foods I’ll be eating.  I was planning on doing a bit more excersizing than I’ll be able to (since my instructions just came in for post-op and I’m not allowed to move basicall for a week, maybe walks, maybe) and so I’m going to focus on my food, and maybe change the way I think about it.  Food’s important, but maybe instead of letting my schedule revolve around the times and places I eat and with who, maybe it should be more about the experience I have and want with food, and if I want to only see people over a drink anymore.

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Day One Hundred Twenty Six:  Green Sunsets

Forgetting when he told me himself I was reminded at Paul’s Dedication that he was colour blind, and it reminded me yet again how everyone sees things differently.  That moon in the sky?  I see it different than you, and that is such a beautiful thing.  It gives everyone a different, unique experience to their own organs, and for that I am grateful.  How would I be the person I am without seeing the moon as I do?  I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I wish I could see those green sunsets Paul talked so lovingly about, but my sunsets are usually Valentine red to marigold, if I can see them at all, sometimes the colours are blocked by the light in my eyes.  I think about these things, those little details that most people overlook, because it’s important to me.  Have you ever sat and listened to someone walk through grass with shoes on?  Everyone speaks so fondly of bare feet on grass, but the shoes hitting the short plants really…it’s something like a soft crunch, or a small closure.  IT’s fascinating to me, these little things.

So when I’m about to go into surgery I think of such things while in the waiting room, when they stick me with an IV, when I’m laying and being stuck with sticky heart monitors and being told to count from ten, of those little details.  That piano riff, that smile, the sun in my eyes at sunset, things that I am so grateful for.  This surgery on Thursday is less uncertain than my others, but it is anesthetic nonetheless.  Would it be alright if I thought only about the machines buzzing and sighing eside me while I was slowly being pressed into involuntary unconsciousness?  I think not, as other things will better calm me down and make it all….worth it.

As for everything else, the other little things around me everyday I find time to appreciate them, but those moments get swept away under other priorities, thoughts, busy-ness of the days that pass.    I can’t say that I always appreciate them, but I really do try.

What if I had lost my voice?  What if I had lost something worse, like my resolve or my hope?  I guess those things come and go, but I am thankful for the sight that I do have and am not bitter for what I have lost.  Maybe that’s a little thing that we all overlook too quick, those little things, or those things we have lost, and maybe didn’t appreciate enough when we had.

I don’t want to preach, or lecture, but take things and appreciate them.  If it’s your mom, or that option for whole-grain toast at breakfast the other day, or the opportunity to have a decent job or go to school.  Some things are in the shadow of harder, darker, more difficult things, but imagine your life without those things, and you’ll think twice before complaining.

I guess I still complain if there’s no whole grain toast, though, so who am I to say?

See you,

x

125

Day One Hundred Twenty-Five:  Winterfell and other Paradises

I’m late again for posts, so today I will write two.  I think I might write a few in advance just so when I’m exhausted this weekend post-surgery I won’t feel obligated to do tons of blog writing.  I’m having surgery on Thursday on my left eye, if anyone’s interested, and a good friend asked me last night if I was nervous at all.  I’m not, surprisingly, and if you know me you’ll be surprised as well.  I tend to worry and get nervous about everything, but it seems that this surgery is not as scary as the thers.

Although, with my no-doubt bad luck there’s always the chance of something going wrong, but I am really not too worried about this one.  I have to keep my prosthetic clean for two weeks, which just means minimal exposure to anything really, which also means that I may go stir crazy from staying inside, but I’m sure I’ll make the best of it, or wallow inside for two weeks, either way I’ll get through it.

Getting nervous is so natural to me that I don’t even know if I recognise it that much.  Maybe I am nervous, and it’s just a part of my everyday mentality now, I’m not sure there’s a way to tell really.  All I can do is just keep breathing and do what I usually do everyday:  eat some oatmeal, smile, and later on I’ll do yoga if I feel like it.

Routine helps me get through everyday.  For my previous surgeries I’ve had to change my routines completely even down to the smallest of details like on which side I have to fall asleep on.  How crappy is that?  Everyone has that specific way they go to sleep in, for me I have to lay on my back until that moment (you know what I mean, that moment when your thoughts sort of stop making sense, like if you’re thinking about the dentist and then the dentist turns into like Satan or Severus Snape or something) and I’ve recognised that moment but just let it go, maybe Snape is going to plant a garden in my mouth, and at that moment I turn on my right side and wake up the next morning.  During some surgeries in particular I had to just sleep face down, no exceptions.   Needless to say it is very hard to change routine unwillingly, trust me.

So for this surgery the only routine that’s going to be thrown off is not being able to leave the house and make normal plans for a while, which won’t be too bad.  We have satellite tv I’m sure there’ll be something on at every moment, not to mention the books and lists of things that need to get done before June, and I feel comfortable going into work.  I guess what I’m saying is I’m more nervous of the lack of routine change, maybe I’ll get used to this staying inside business and never leave again?  Probably not, but it’s still a tiny bit worrying.

I am anticipating the worst but hoping for the best.  Maybe I will go crazy and write some brilliant piece again like the last time, or maybe I’ll go through the entire Avatar Airbender series in two days like I expect to, who knows.  Either way, I’m preparing myself, and I think that’s what I’ll write about this week.

The Chronicles of Preparation.

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